


Trembling Collapse

by SenkoWakimarin



Category: Punisher (Comics)
Genre: Blood and Injury, Frank Castle Being Terminally Repressed, Gunshot Wounds, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-13
Updated: 2019-09-13
Packaged: 2020-10-17 15:47:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,299
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20623544
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SenkoWakimarin/pseuds/SenkoWakimarin
Summary: Frank's not the one bleeding, but his hands won't stop shaking.





	Trembling Collapse

**Author's Note:**

> From a prompt on Tumblr.

For Frank, falling hard is a habit. In spite of his tendency to act in anger, dramatic lashing out that seems to preclude any capacity for forethought, he's a patient man. He falls, he gets back up, and he repeats that cycle as many times as it takes to get whatever job he's working finished to his own complete satisfaction. He does what needs to be done, and only after it's _done _does he assess the damage. 

To him, this is the proper order of things. Try, fail, correct, try again. Bandage as needed. Being called stubborn (or any of the other words that mean as much) is a complement; being called stubborn just means people recognize that he's firm in his convictions and isn't the sort to just let shit slide.

Injuries are an inconvenience, but they are unavoidable in this line of work. He only really minds them when they get in the way of doing what needs to be done. He can take a great deal of pain without slowing down much, and can work through things that would keep a lesser man grounded. Blood and pain are just part of war.

Lieberman is not Frank. Part of Frank -- an ugly part, not a part he likes or is inclined to share, but still a part of him -- sees Lieberman as a distraction and an asset more than anything. If he's being generous with himself, that incredibly callous assessment of the man is a way of trying to keep a secure, protective, emotional distance from the man, so it's harder to get hurt if -- when -- what they have falls through.

An asset getting damaged is an inconvenience and a distraction. For Frank, it's different; sometimes taking an injury could be written off as a blessing in disguise, pain honing to rage, rage tunneling his attention on whoever got a hit on him, on finishing the job, allowing him to focus better. 

Someone else, anyone else, getting hurt on his account, hurt because they stuck too close to him, shouldn't be an issue. It's to be expected. All wars have casualties.

And yet Frank's hands are shaking as he puts pressure on the worst of the wounds colouring Lieberman's body. His fingers are soaked in blood, which is not a new sensation, and every time he lets up to check if the bleeding has slowed, the shaking starts up again.

They both knew Lieberman's continued association with Frank put him at risk. Anyone who spent any time with Frank, especially helping him fight his endless war, was going to get hurt. The only question there was how severely and how often.

Until now, they've been pretty lucky. Lieberman's injuries have all been the kind he could walk away from, the kind that he could care for himself without too much assistance, usually without Frank being aware of at all until Lieberman told him or he saw the bruise, the cut, the new-made scar in some private, intimate moment.

Lieberman collapsed on the floor after they shoved their way into some poorly stocked secondary bolt hole Frank had set up months ago and barely thought of since, and Frank's hands were shaking on his unconscious body, heart racing, brain whining white noise as he sets about trying to remember what field medicine he can. 

It's a clean wound. A lot of blood, but uncomplicated; the bullet tore through Lieberman's leg cleanly. For a given value of clean, at least. Neat enough that Frank hadn't realized the severity of it until they were alone and he'd let Lieberman go so he could secure the exits and heard him drop like a stone less than thirty seconds later.

This is his fault. He's aware of that, though he refuses to indulge in guilt. He was at fault, but Lieberman had known what came with staying by him. Lieberman took the risk of sticking around. Frank brought the violence in with him, like a wild animal he couldn't get to stop following him, and like a wild animal that violence at any point could lash out and hurt someone. Usually it was Frank that wound up bloody, but Lieberman catches the fallout regularly. 

Frank just doesn't usually have to see it fresh. He doesn't have to drench his fingers in this man's blood and feel him shiver as his body goes into shock. 

Taking Lieberman with him to run recon had been a mistake. They'd both known the risk, both gotten comfortable with the thought that Frank could keep Lieberman safe. This is what came of that, what came of someone trusting him, of him enjoying someone's company enough to want him with him as much as possible. 

It's not life threatening. Lieberman's going to hurt like hell, and there's going to be scar, big and ugly because Frank's not good enough at wound care to minimize the evidence afterwards, but the bleeding is already slowing and Frank's not even had to put his full weight on it. Just steady pressure from the heels of his hands, broken now and then to press another rag over the soaked pieces already plastered to the curve of Lieberman's calve. 

Every time he lifts his hands to grab the towel he's been ripping apart into rags, his fingers tremble. He's been shot enough times himself to know that this wound is, in the grand scheme of things, minor. Lieberman isn't going to die on the floor, and soon enough he's going to regain consciousness, probably lay into Frank for being an idiot. That uneven breathing will steady, his skin will warm, the pain creasing his face will turn to irritation at Frank for dragging him into this mess. He can hear Lieberman already, feel the jab of his finger to Frank's chest and see the heat in his eyes, magnified by his glasses as he tells Frank 'never again'. 

And he'll be right. This won't happen again.

Frank won't let it happen again. Lieberman is an invaluable asset, and unless Lieberman decides this is the final straw -- and he'd be in his rights, Frank supposes -- Frank's not going to let this be the thing that ends their working relationship. But assets, especially the valuable ones, should be taken care of, treated well, not put in danger. 

Just being around Frank puts Lieberman in danger, but he's too selfish to cut ties. Lieberman, whether Frank wants to admit it or not, is more than an asset. 

Frank's hands won't stop shaking, and he smears blood on the soft, cold flesh of Lieberman's face as he grazes his cheek and presses his fingers into the side of his neck, feeling for a pulse. It's rapid when he finds it, and disconcertingly weak, but Lieberman is breathing steadily again. Shallow, but steady. Frank strains himself trying to remember how one is supposed to treat shock. A blanket, he thinks; he should get a blanket on Lieberman now that the bleeding is stopped. 

Lieberman's lips are faintly blue, like he's been in the cold, or he's been holding his breath. For one idiot moment, Frank wants to kiss him, wants to lay on the floor and hold him, warm him physically, hold on until Lieberman wakes up and makes him let go.

He makes himself stand, instead, go get the first aid kit and a thick, rough army surplus blanket from the back room. Later, he'll get Lieberman on the cot back there, keep him laying down, leg elevated, make him rest the way Lieberman always tries to make Frank rest when he's been hurt. 

Now, he'll cover him up where he's at, collapsed on the floor, and he'll tend to the wound as well as he can, until his hands are steady again, and Lieberman is stable.


End file.
